


The Railway Series Abridged

by E350tb



Category: The Railway Series - W. Awdry, Thomas the Tank Engine - All Media Types
Genre: Abridged Series, Gen, Parody
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-04
Updated: 2020-01-17
Packaged: 2021-02-27 12:07:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,187
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22116859
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/E350tb/pseuds/E350tb
Summary: Welcome to the Island of Sodor, where all lie prostrate towards the Fat Controller.
Comments: 21
Kudos: 21





	1. Edward's Day Out (or; The Uneventful First Story)

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sorry.

**The Three Railway Engines or; Oh Hey, I Can Make Money Off My Son’s Bedtime Stories!**

**Foreword**

There isn’t actually one in this book.

…

Okay, bye.

* * *

###  Edward’s Day Out

Once upon a time there was a little engine called Edward. Okay, well, he wasn’t actually that little; what we mean is that he was _comparatively_ little. He lived in a shed with five other engines. They were all bigger than Edward (see what I mean), and they boasted about it because their only character trait was ‘arsehole.’(1)

“The Driver won’t choose you again,” they said, in terrifying voice of legion style. “He wants big, strong engines like us.”

There was only one driver at this time. He was the local Tory, and was scabbing while all the others were on strike for their wages.

Edward had not been out for some time, and began to feel sad. Actually, from the illustration, he looks more like he’s passing a kidney stone, but we’ll say he’s sad instead.

Just then, the Driver and Fireman came along to start work.

The Driver looked at Edward. “Why are you sad?” he asked. “You’re not a Bolshevik, are you?”

“No.”

“Well then would you like to come out today?”

“Yes please!” said Edward.

So the Fireman lit the fire and made a nice lot of steam. Edward frowned slightly. He’d never get to go to Pride.

Then the Driver pulled the lever, and Edward puffed away.

“Peep peep,” he whistled. “Look at me now.”

The others were very cross at being left behind. Three of them would now vanish forever, and one would eventually be interpreted by the fandom as a mad bomber.(2)

Away went Edward to fetch some coaches.

“Be careful, Edward,” said the coaches, again in some kind of horrifying voice of legion thing. “Don’t bump and bang us like the other engines do.”

And so a fedora appeared on Edward’s funnel, and he gently puffed up to the coaches and said “m’lady.” The shunter fastened the coupling.

“Thank you Edward,” said the coaches. “That was very kind. We’re glad you’re taking us out today.”

Having showed them some very basic respect, Edward now considered himself entitled to the coaches for the rest of time. He wasn’t like those _other_ engines, after all; he was a nice guy.

Then they went to the station, where the people were waiting. As opposed to them waiting at, say, a toxic waste dump. Thanks for making that one clear, Reverend.

“Peep peep,” whistled Edward. “Get in quickly please.”

“I’ll take as long as I fackin’ want!” shouted a drunken old man, and he hit the coach door with his walking stick.

The other people got in quickly, for they feared the railway’s wrath, and Edward waited happily for the guard to blow his whistle and wave his green flag.

He waited and waited - there was no whistle, no green flag.

“Peep, peep, peep, peep - where is that guard?” Edward was getting anxious.

“Why are you saying ‘peep?’” someone asked. “Don’t you have a whistle?”

He was sternly warned by the transport police for questioning the story.

The Driver and Fireman asked the Station Master; “Have you seen the guard?”

“No, I hate that bloke,” he said.

They asked the porter; “Have you seen the guard?”

“Yes, last night,” said the porter. “He was _smaaaa-aaaashed!_ ”

Edward began to get cross. “Are we ever going to start?” he said.

“Yeah, this is pretty standard British Rail stuff,” said the passenger.

“Alright, mate, this is your last warning,” said the transport police.

Just then a little boy shouted; “Here he comes!” And there the guard was, running down the hill with his flag in one hand and his co-uh-his _sandwich_ in the other.

He ran onto the platform, blew his whistle, jumped into his van and continued his mas- _his sandwich._

Edward puffed off. He did have a happy day. All the children ran to wave as he went past, and thus failed their tests, and he met old friends at the stations and reconnected with his life of organised crime. He worked so hard without demanding wages that the Driver promised to take him out again the next day.

“I’m going out again tomorrow,” he told the other engines that night in the shed. “What do you think of that?”

“Bloody do-gooder,” muttered one of the engines.

But he didn’t hear what they thought, because he was so overwor- _so tired and happy_ that he fell asleep at once.

“Not much happened in this story, did it?” mused the passenger.

“Right, you were warned!” said the transport police, and they beat him severely.

* * *

1\. No seriously. If you look at the illustration, three of these engines never appear again. They literally exist only to marginalise Edward.

2\. This isn’t a joke.


	2. Edward and Gordon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Very special thanks to [realfakedoors](https://archiveofourown.org/users/realfakedoors/pseuds/realfakedoors) for proofreading!

### Edward and Gordon

One of the engines in Edward’s shed was called Gordon. He was very big and very proud. I mean, he was a _big boy_. Proper _swole_.

“You watch me this afternoon, little Edward,” he boasted, “as I rush through with the express; that will be a splendid sight for you.”

“I am fifty years older than you,” said Edward.

Just then his Driver pulled the lever (the strike having been ended by the Army at bayonet-point.)

“Goodbye, little Edward,” said Gordon as he puffed away. “Look out for me this afternoon.”

Gordon boasted, but in reality he felt deeply insecure, as he felt he was only valued for his express pulling skills.

Edward went off too, to do some shunting.

Edward liked shunting, because he was a big goody two-shoes. It was fun harassing the trucks. He would come up quietly and give them a pull, violently because these weren’t fair ladies like the coaches, but THOTs (those haulers over there.)

“Oh! Oh! Oh! Oh! Oh!” screamed the trucks, ‘oh’ being the word on their word-a-day calendar that day, “Whatever is happening?”

Then he’d stop and the trucks would go bump into each other. They cried, for their lot in life was hell. And the engines wondered why the trucks played tricks on them.

Edward brutally bullied and harrassed the trucks until there were none left, then he stopped to rest.

Presently, for presently was a word they used a lot in 1945, he heard a whistle. Gordon came puffing along, very slowly and very crossly, for he’d been fiendishly set up with coal trucks instead of the express, and was now dealing with anxiety.

“A goods train! A goods train! A goods train!” he grumbled. “The shame of it! The shame of it! The shame of it!” He had earlier demanded satisfaction from the shunter, but engines can neither carry guns nor swords, so the duel was a nonstarter.

He went slowly through, and Edward laughed long and hard at him. Our hero, everybody.

Soon afterward, a porter came and spoke to his Driver.

“Gordon can’t get up the hill. Will you take Edward and force him to carry on with his unpaid labour, please?”

“Do you think these labour jokes will start to get a bit tired soon?” asked Edward.

“I hope not, they’re most of what we have.”

They found Gordon halfway up the hill. He was very cross. His Driver and Fireman were talking severely to him.

“You’re not trying!”

“You hypocrites!” said Gordon. “You just got back from a strike! Besides, they’re holding me back. Coaches don’t do that!”

“That’s because coaches are the demure ladies society expects them to be,” said the Driver. “You just need to break them!”

“That’s a bit dark, isn’t it?” asked the Fireman.

Edward’s Driver came up. “We’ve come to push.”

“No use at all,” said Gordon.

They brought the train to the bottom of the hill, and Edward came up behind the brake van.

“Peep peep, I’m ready!” said Edward.

“Poop poop, you’re a scab,” grumbled Gordon.

The guard blew his whistle and they pulled and pushed as hard as they good. See, at least Gordon’s _trying_ , even if he’s got anxiety right now.

“I can’t do it,” puffed Gordon.

“I will do it,” puffed Edward.

“Eat a cactus, Edward,” puffed Gordon.

Edward pushed and puffed and puffed and pushed as hard as he could, and before he realised it, Gordon found himself at the top of the hill.

“I’ve done it! I’ve done it!” he said proudly, and he ran off as fast as he could.

“Aren’t you going to thank me?” asked Edward as Gordon shot off.

“You laughed at me, you little prick!” said Gordon as he sped into the distance, leaving Edward behind.

He ran to the next station, and there the Driver and Fireman said they were very pleased with him. The Fireman poured a full bottle of Jack Daniels into his tank in celebration, and the Driver said, “I’ll get out my paint tomorrow and give you a new coat of blue paint with red stripes.”

“You have paint?” asked Edward.

“No, I mean I’m going to bribe the fitters with beer until they do it for me while I read the Beano,” said the Driver. “But yeah, then you’ll be the smartest engine in the shed.”

“I didn’t know paint was connected to intelligence.”

“Don’t push your luck you cheeky little bastard.”


	3. The Sad Story of Henry

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Very special thanks to [realfakedoors](https://archiveofourown.org/users/realfakedoors/pseuds/realfakedoors) for proofreading!

### The Sad Story of Henry

_Once an engine attached to a train,_

_Was possessed of crippling ombrophobia,_

_So they locked him up._

The engine’s name was Henry, hence the title. His Driver and Fireman argued with him, but he would not move.

“The rain will spoil my lovely green paint and red stripes,” he said, “and the last story said that paint is connected to intelligence.”

The Guard blew his whistle until he had no more breath, and waved his flags until his arms ached, then perished of overexertion, but Henry still stayed in the tunnel, and blew steam at his corpse.

“I’m not going to spoil my lovely green paint and-”

“He’s dead, mate,” said the Driver.

“Point still stands.”

The passengers came and argued too, but Henry told them where to shove their train tickets.

A Fat Director who was on the train told the new Guard (hired over the old one’s still warm corpse) to get a rope.

“We will pull you out!”

But Henry only blew steam at him and made him wet.

There’s a joke there, but it’s a bit too obvious.

They hooked the rope on and all pulled - except the Fat Director.

“My doctor has forbidden me to push,” he said.

“No I haven’t,” said his doctor.

“Quiet, you,” said the Fat Director.

They pulled and pulled and pulled, but Henry still stayed in the tunnel, because trains are heavy and humans are weak.

Then they tried pushing from the other end, because clearly that was going to work better.

The Fat Director said; “One, two, three, push!” But he didn’t help.

“My doctor has forbidden me to push.”

“Sir, I haven’t-”

“Quiet, you.”

They pushed and pushed and pushed, but Henry still stayed in the tunnel.

“God dammit, you all need to go to the gym,” said the Fat Director.

At last another train came. The Guard waved his red flag and stopped it, because if he didn’t it would have rear ended Henry’s train and killed many people, and the railway did not want to have to go to court.

The two Drivers, the Firemen and the Guards went and argued with Henry.

“Look, it’s stopped raining.”

“Yes, but at some stage in the history of humanity it will rain again,” said Henry.

“Jesus Tapdancing Christ, Henry,” they said.

So they brought the other engine up (hey wait, is that James? He’s not supposed to be here until the next book! God damn it, illustrator C. Reginald Dalby!) and it pushed and puffed as hard as ever it could. But it was a little weakling, and Henry stayed in the tunnel.

So they gave it up as a hard job.

“We shall leave you here for always and always and always.”

“That’s an odd way of saying forever,” said Henry.

They took up the old rails, built a wall in front of him, and cut a new tunnel.

“Wouldn’t it have been easier to just get a bigger engine to pull him out?” asked the Driver.

“Yes, but I have money,” said the Fat Director, “and power. And I can make people do whatever the hell I like.”

Now Henry can’t get out, and he watches the trains rushing through the new tunnel. He is very sad because no one will ever see his lovely green paint with red stripes again.

But I think he deserved it, don’t you?

…

_What?! No! That’s entirely disproportionate, Mr. Awdry! If you want this book published, you’d best be writing a story where he gets out, on the double!_

Drat.


	4. Edward, Gordon and Henry

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Very special thanks to [realfakedoors](https://archiveofourown.org/users/realfakedoors/pseuds/realfakedoors) for proofreading!

### Edward, Gordon and Henry

Edward and Gordon often went through the tunnel where Henry was shut up. Well, not through that specific tunnel; through the one they’d drilled next to it. That’s just common sense.

Edward would say, “Peep, peep - hullo!” He was such a hipster he said ‘hello’ with a u.

Gordon would say ‘Poop, poop, poop! Serves you right!” Jackass.

Henry had no steam to answer - if he did, he might have said, “Gordon, why do you keep saying poop?” He was cold and unhappy, and wanted to come out and pull trains too. And the publisher wants me to let him out too, so I guess that’s where we’re going with this.

Gordon always pulled the Express. He was proud of being the only engine strong enough to do it. This naturally put a lot of pressure on him and made him insecure.

There were many coaches full of important people like the Fat Director. Remember him? He’s the bloke what locked Henry in the tunnel.

Gordon was seeing how fast he could go. If he went fast enough, he’d break 88mph and get to see the future. Probably.

“Hurry! Hurry! Hurry!” he panted.

“Trickety-trock! Trickety-trock!” said the coaches.

“What in God’s name are you saying?” asked Gordon.

Gordon could see Henry’s tunnel in front. “In a minute,” he thought, “I’ll poop, poop, poop at Henry, and rush through and out into the open again.” It was all beginning to sound worryingly like a scat fic.

Closer and closer he came - he was almost there when…

“ _Wheeeeeeeesh!_ ”

He was in a cloud of steam, and his Driver and Fireman were immediately covered in third degree burns. Somehow, his Driver stopped the train.

“What has happened to me?” asked Gordon.

“You’ve burst your safety valve,” is what the Driver wanted to say, but what he actually said was, “AAAAAAAAAA!!!! AAAA!!!! AAAA!!! OH GOD IT BURNS!!! _AAAAAAAA!!!!_ ”

Everybody got out and came to see Gordon. “Humph!” said the Fat Director. “I never liked these big engines! Always going wrong; send of another engine at once.”

While the Guard went to find one, they uncoupled Gordon (who was heartbroken and trying not to cry at the Fat Director’s insult) and ran him onto a siding out of the way. So basically he was now in timeout. I guess they couldn’t find a tunnel to brick him up in.

The only engine left in the Shed was Edward.

“I’ll come and try,” he said, because his entire personality in this book is being sort of helpful.

Gordon saw him coming. “That’s no use!” he said, because his entire personality in this book is being sort of a dick. “Edward can’t pull the train.”

Edward puffed and pulled and pulled and puffed, but ultimately he managed jack and shit.

“Told you,” said Gordon.

“These coaches don’t appreciate me,” said Edward sadly, a single tear falling from his eye. “They only move for big Chad engines like Gordon, not nice engines like me.”

“Uh huh,” said Gordon. “Why not let Henry try?”

“Yes,” said the Fat Director. “I will. Not like he has a choice, after all.”

He went and asked Henry and he said yes, because what the hell else was Henry going to say?

So Gordon’s Driver and Fireman lit his fire, some platelayers broke down the wall and put up the rails, and when he had steam up Henry puffed out. This all took like four hours.

He was dirty, his boiler was black and he was covered in cobwebs. “Oooooh! I’m so stiff! Oooh! I’m so stiff.”

Yes, this is actual dialogue from the actual book.

“You’d better have a run to ease your joints, and find a turntable,” said the Fat Director kindly, as if his vengeful wrath had not entrapped Henry to begin with.

Henry came back feeling much better, and they put him in front of the train so that Edward would have to stare at Henry’s ass for the whole journey.

“Peep, peep!” said Edward. “I’m ready!”

“Peep, peep, peep, I should bloody well hope so,” said Henry.

“Pull hard, pull hard, pull hard,” said Edward, because this was 1945 and people did not have the same dirty minds we do today.

“We’ll do it, we’ll do it, we’ll do it,” said Henry, spoiling the ending to the book.

The heavy coaches jerked and began to move, slowly at first, then faster and faster.

“We’ve done it together, we’ve done it together!” said Edward.

“I’m doing most of the work,” said Henry.

“Yes but I’m clearly the author’s favourite, so shut up,” said Edward.

All the passengers were very excited, because life was boring for them. The Fat Director leaned out the window to wave at Edward and Henry, but his hat blew off into a field where a goat ate it for tea. Which was better than the guy behind him, who leaned out to wave and had his head taken off by a passing goods train.

They never stopped until they came to the big station at the end of the line. Which wasn’t great, because they missed three scheduled stops.

The passengers all came out and said “thank you,” even though all of them were absurdly late and would now be sacked by their bosses.

The Fat Director promised Henry a new coat of paint.

“Would you like blue and red?”

“No, I prefer green.”

“Too bad, you’ll conform with Edward and you’ll like it.”

Edward and Henry went home quietly, picking up Gordon on the way. They laughed at him, and he cried a bunch, and therefore all three are now great friends.

Wasn’t Henry pleased when he had his new coat. He wasn’t, actually, but knew better than to enrage the Fat Director, so he kept his mouth shut. He doesn’t mind the rain now, because he knows that the best way to keep his paint nice is not to run into tunnels, but to ask his Driver to rub him down when the day’s work is over.

There. He’s out of the tunnel. Are you happy now?

_I suppose so._

Good. Never make me do this again; I have the power of Jesus on my side, you know-

_Yes, very good, reverend._

**Author's Note:**

> Actually I'm not sorry.


End file.
